You Leave That Alone
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 11.19 Dean is under a lot of stress, and nothing is going right for the boys. He's no closer to saving Cas and feels so helpless and worthless. Sam should have known his brother would do something reckless, or is it what he didn't do? Hurt!dean
1. Chapter 1

WARNING! This story doesn't contain self-harm, but more like self-punishment. Basically; pain can be a releasing feeling. If this is a trigger or anything for anyone, please don't read.

YOU LEAVE THAT ALONE

TAG FOR 11.19 The Chitters

Sam knows it's his fault. He shouldn't have taken it for granted that Dean was okay. That Dean would tell him if he was hurt, because they might be closer than ever right now, but part of it was never Dean 'fessing up about being hurt. Sam should have never left it up to him. He knows Dean isn't so brilliant at taking care of himself.

It had been a weird hunt with the new hunters, and the unknown creatures and all the dead victims. The possibility of have some allies had been thrilling, it had been so long of just being alone. Just him and Dean. Sure there was Cas, but Cas wasn't there all the time and now he was gone too.

Meeting those two men so closely bound to each other had been refreshing, it had bloomed a small flower of hope in both the Winchester's chests. Sam had never felt more proud of calling Dean his brother than when he'd told the bold faced lie that he and Sam were set. That they didn't need help, that they were happily living out the rest of their lives beheading some fang, ganking some small town baddies.

Dean couldn't pull them into their cesspool of death, and lies, and divine power. Dean had done the right thing, the honorable thing. And Sam had been proud and sad, and they had said little on the drive back home. Dean knocking it out in one long haul, blinking stoically out the windshield lost in his headspace.

And though Sam generally worried about Dean, his older brother had been quiet and bookish about their predicament this time around and Sam must have let his guard down. Sam was learning to allow Dean space, learning that as long as Dean didn't shut him out it was okay for his brother to be silent about stuff. Learning that Dean going quiet wasn't denial, wasn't blaming Sam it was just him dealing.

He would probably blame himself too much, hell, Sam knows he will. But that was a part of Dean and his character. He felt better if he could blame someone, usually himself, but it did make him feel better and it would fade. Or at least it faded on the outside, Sam would hate to see his brother's soul and the harm he'd done to it himself.

So Sam left Dean alone, they listened to music, laughed with the windows down, sipped on milkshakes and when Dean drifted Sam let him. After all Baby was his happy place, and Sam never saw him more relaxed anywhere else. He felt like when they were in the impala he could let go a little, it was both of their happy, safe place.

Dean knew it was probably messed up and wrong, but he found just a little pain was good. It was releasing, it eased his guilt, it let him rest. It made things feel maybe a little more fair.

There had been so much pain on this hunt.

Jesse lost his brother, never had him back, never had a chance to get him back. Cesar had followed him all the years helping him get revenge; Dean knew the pain and the unfairness of that. All those women and men had died, the sheriff had killed his own daughter and had to live with it all his life.

Dean and Sam rode through town again without really fixing anything. Sure they made sure it wouldn't happen again, but what had they healed, what had they made better?

And then there was Cas, and Amara, the niggling feeling he got that she was going to call for him, and he didn't know if he would be able to say no. He felt guilty about that, God he felt dirty and violated by her connection to him, but he couldn't fight it, couldn't cleanse himself of it. He felt guilty and wrong and that made him angry and tense and determined to do something right.

Nothing was going right lately.

So just a little hurt felt good, felt like someone was finally getting punished for the wrong, Dean didn't see why it shouldn't be him. It was releasing, put him to rest, eased the tense feeling in his stomach. Felt like if he was hurting then he could rest and not feel guilty anymore about all the things going wrong. Because if he was hurting he was paying his way, he was doing his part, things would be alright.

So he just chose to leave it alone. It would fade over a couple days, leave him feeling a little less tight, a little less guilty. He never put himself in danger on purpose or self inflicted pain, but he did choose to leave it alone.

He'd never hurt himself intentionally but he didn't say he didn't revel in it sometimes either; the blood, and bruises and violence of it all. When he killed a monster they were paying for the crimes and the lives they had taken, so when he received a wound or blow back he takes it as fair payment...for something.

So Dean's bruises ached as he drove home, his jaw throbbed, he was beyond exhausted. But he was still like a live wire. For the first time in days it was all fading away. The guilt of Cas and Amara and Lucifer, and everything he couldn't fix. And with the way his body ached everything else became numb, it was heaven. So he laughed and smiled with Sam, he relished in the way it was pure agony to laugh, as he jostled his ribs, and stretched his jawbone out.

It was definitely probably wrong, he couldn't bring himself to care.

When they get home, Dean surprises his brother by entirely bypassing the library and heading straight for a long, hot shower. Sam heaves a sigh of relief and heads too his own room to wash the road and the hunt off himself. He's hungry when he emerges so he goes in search of Dean, to see if he wants to cook, or go run and get something, or Sam's personal favorite...cereal.

He stops in Dean's door, and knocks on it even though it's already open. "Dean?" He asks.

"Yeah?" He hears from the bathroom. That door's also open, there's a low mantel of fog hanging in the air, and Sam smirks.

"Hungry?"

Dean enjoys his shower like he hasn't in a while, relishing in the hot water trailing down his aching muscles. Then he stands in front of his mirror in a pair of jeans looking at his torso. It's mottled with blue, purple and yellow bruises, he drifts fingers over them, feels some irregularity over a rib. Shit. Cracked again, please god not broken. The ache isn't unmanageable, it's kind of pleasant, just a dull throb making him feel like he's done something right. Because most of the time you have to pay for the stuff that goes right.

Hard work gets rewarded.

There's light bruises coming up over the left side of his face but nothing serious. His neck is a little sore from being choked, but not too bad. Like he said it's a comfortable ache. Sam knocks at his door and he smirks, knows the little brother is surprised at his actions. But Dean is feeling loose and happy and he wants go get something decent to eat. He's been living off the Sammy diet of cereal, coffee and beer lately and he's ready to break his fast.

Sam's voice comes blessed from his bedroom door in a question about food.

"Hungry?"

God, yes! For a burger, for some French fries...for something more than cereal and coffee, for more...he's just hungry for something more.

"Yeah," he answers, "Let's go get something!" He pulls his t-shirt over his head, over the bruises, and the cracked rib, and walks out, to see Sam standing in his door looking surprised.

"Really?" Sam asks, not sarcastically, but like he can't believe it.

"Yeah," Dean says, slowing down a little, not wanting to give Sam whip lash. "I mean, we're not getting anything done here, we got nothing to go on, and we just had a successful hunt...lets go out and get some real food and have a few shots and then home to a long, long night of sleep."

Sam raises his brows, "Well...okay, let me go get changed." He gives Dean a real smile.

Dean is about to give Sam whiplash, he's sure of it. The younger Winchester has been trying to somewhat relearn his older brother since he died and the mark of Cain was removed from his arm. And it's not just him, he's sure of that. Dean is different.

He is still loud, inappropriate, violent, compassionate Dean. But he's different too. He is often just calm...like a gorgeous day out at sea...smooth. That was something Dean had not been for a long time. Maybe his soul enjoyed being more gentle again after the mark was removed from it, maybe he was simply too tired. Either way, Sam knew his brother was changing.

But even Sam knew you had to go out and get rid of the responsibility and the weight of the world sometimes, so he smiles at Dean's suggestion because honestly he was starting to miss go-getter, happy-go-lucky, shoot-first-ask-questions-later Dean. And he knew his brother was closing himself up as punishment for not being able to help Cas, or kill Amara. So he thinks maybe Dean is letting it go, maybe he is realizing there's nothing that they could really do right now.

Sam changes into some jeans and a button up, grabs his wallet and coat, and meets Dean in the map room where his brother is waiting, bent over his phone, arm held tight to his side. Sam thinks nothing of it. Dean is laughing even as he hears Sam's footsteps.

"Crowley's stilled pissed about being on the run. Trying to get me to invite him here, I think."

Sam snorts. "In his dreams."

Dean agrees with big eyes, typing out Sam's very words. He's sniggering over Crowley's' expected heated, witty reply.

"Are we going to dinner, or being Crowley's besties?" Sam asks.

Dean wipes the mischievous smile off his face and ducks his head as he puts his phone away. "Let's go Sammy-boy, been too long since I been out on the town with you."

That doesn't sound good. "I thought it was just dinner." Sam says, following his brother up the stairs.

Dean laughs, "Don't worry Sammy, if I was really going out on the town, I wouldn't tag you along." He dodges Sam's exasperated punch, slipping out the door, smiling goofily. "I'm about beat," he confesses, "And I just want some actual good food. It's just been so long since we've done anything like this, it might as well be going out on the town."

Sam agrees, without Dean pushing for them to get out and about they might as well become hermits. Sam's going to have to look out for that, he can't let Dean shut himself off. He wouldn't thrive like that; Dean thrives on the open road, nasty, greasy food and and saving the day.

And Sam loves that about him.

He closes and locks the bunker door behind them and joins his big brother in the impala. Dean cranks her up, and they're off towards town. Dean's thumb tapping on Baby's wheel, a small, contented smile quirking his lips as he lets a little wind in through his cracked window. Sam can't help but feel this is better, this is the way it's supposed to be.

Dean can be a nuisance and unbelievably immature but Sam has missed this part of him. He guesses the successful hunt and letting Jesse and Cesar go loosened his brother up some, and he's absolutely thrilled. He knew things had to be looking up for them soon. And now Dean was happy and acting 'alive' and there was no freaking way Sam was taking that for granted.

Dean thrived on the people around him too. Sam had been trying to be positive when everything was going so bad for them and the brothers were being there for each other like they hadn't been for years, but there was only so much Sam felt like he could do. So as they pull into Dean's favorite bar, that Sam knew he loved the burgers at he was genuinely happy, and more than thrilled to be there with him.

So Sam doesn't mention his change in mood, the way his step seems lighter, doesn't ask why. He's too afraid to break the spell. So he leaves it alone.

Dean feels the best he's felt in a long time.

He does feel momentarily guilty, speeding free down the highway towards beer and burgers, while Cas is somewhere locked inside his vessel with the Devil. But he's sore, he can feel that rib pushing against the skin of his stomach, it hurts, and they had helped put things to right for Jesse and Cesar and he thinks he deserves a quick break, just for a burger and a beer with his brother.

And Sam needs a break too. It wasn't as hard on him, but this was going to tell on Sam in the end. Amara and Lucifer were out there, and they were coming. Dean knows in his heart of hearts she's coming for him, she's going to call for him soon and will he be able to deny her? Will he be able to say no? He's not sure, but he's feeling uncomfortably lenient towards God's sister.

"I don't now why you like this shit hole." Sam supplies cheerily beside him. And Dean smiles, because yes! distraction.

"The food is amazing, Sammy!" He nearly gushes.

"I don't know how anything cooked in this grease pit is amazing." Sam says, looking critically at the front of the joint, and it's neon lights and beer logos.

"Aw cmon, this is nice joint," Dean whines, "Just try it, besides they got El Sol."

"You know I hate that stuff."

"You also know it's not my fault you have sucky taste in beer."

Sam opens his mouth to supply a witty answer, but Dean stops him.

"If I remember," he mocks a thoughtful look, a finger placed primly on his chin. "I proposed this outing and that you are simply 'tagging along' so," he claps his hands together loudly. "We can go have a burger and a beer or you can sit in the car and wait for me to be done, like the good old days, eh Sammy?"

Sam grimaces remembering the days Dean would leave him in the car while he went and hustled pool, and drank and picked up a 'companion' for the night. He had not desire to go back to that. No matter how bad the beer, or the food, or the bar Sam would much rather be with Dean then sit and research something they can't fix while watching Dean get drunk off his ass.

"I'm coming," he says meekly. And Dean flashes him a 500 watt smile that's been far too long since Sam's seen.

He follows his brother in and slips onto a bar stool beside Dean, who appears a little uncomfortable, shifting around on it, arm still held awkwardly to his side.

"You okay?" He asks, even as Dean motions for two beers.

"Yeah, just a little sore...hey Donny." He smirks up at the bartender who smiles at him. Sam gathers they know each other.

"Been a while, Dean," Donny says, popping the lids off their beers.

"Life keeps you away from the good stuff, yeah?" Dean chuckles to himself, and Donny laughs too.

"What'll it be?"

"Me and Sam'll both have the burger special."

"Oh, so this is Sam?"

Sam raises his eyebrows and glances over to his brother, "Yeah, nice to meet you too," he offers his hand. Donny shakes it, and leans towards Sam confidentially, smirking at Dean.

"Your brother comes in here drinking, makes you two sound more like an old married couple than pissed off brothers."

"Hey!" Dean objects, "Less talking, more cooking, I'm starving." Donny laughs and so does Sam, he looks fondly over at Dean as Donny walks away, enjoying the way the lights are sparkling in Dean's eyes.

"What?" Dean asks, a little defensively.

"Just, I haven't seen you this happy in a while, is all."

Dean only grunts in response. Sam notices the hand farthest from him, fisted around the edge of the seat of his bar stool. Worry shoots through Sam for the first time.

"You sure you're okay?" He asks again.

Dean doesn't grow defensive or annoyed which was a big red flag.

He shrugs, "Got a little knocked around, just a few bruises, it's fine."

Sam closes his eyes in sudden regret. Why hadn't he checked with Dean before they even left Colorado? He knew better than to trust Dean to volunteer the information that he'd been hurt. Sam should have looked him down himself. Suddenly Dean's improved mood, didn't seem like such a blessing; Sam tenses.

"Dean," he starts in a low, dangerous tone. He's about to be pissed at his brother.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean cuts him off. "If I was bad hurt I'd let you know, okay? Leave it alone. Man can't even have a beer, gawd!"

Sam huffs an annoyed breath, "Sorry. It's just you didn't tell me you even got beat up."

"It was just a few punches, Sammy," Dean soothes over, "Then I severed its head with a shovel...wicked, I know. Though nothing is ever going to beat Gordon Walker and Super Sam." Dean giggles over his own joke as Donny brings their plates. And Sam finds himself smiling fondly at Dean, watching his laugh lines rise and fall.

He nods his head to Donny and picks up his burger, Dean's already bit into his sighing like all is well in the world. Sam lets out his own sigh, a sigh of resignation and he bites in. It's not bad, it could be a lot worse. But not as good as Dean's, definitely not what Sam would have picked.

But Dean is raising his eyebrows and nodding at Sam, daring him to say anything else than 'this is amazing.' So Sam shakes his head, smiling and swallows his first bite, washing it down with beer, which actually makes it lots better.

Dean has gobbled up his burger in record timing even for him and is leaning against the bar, nursing his second beer as Sam finishes. There's a light sheen of sweat raised on his forehead, but it is rather warm, and Sam is happy to see that lively sparkle back in his eyes.

Sam wipes his hands and sighs, finally feeling full and satisfied. Dean smirks at him even as the words come out of his little brother's mouth.

"That was actually really good," he says, even as he regrets saying the words, Dean is looking disgustingly smug.

"Shut up." He says.

"I didn't say anything," Dean defends, smiling.

The song on the jukebox switches, something soft and croony. Dean smirks over at Sam, "Dance with me Sammy?"

Sam laughs and nudges him with his elbow, but doesn't catch the way Dean grimaces. His arm sneaking up to wrap around his rib cage.

"Yeah, you're right of course," Dean muses, "You're too big for the dance floor."

"Am not," Sam refutes.

"Are too."

Sam rolls his eyes smoking and giving up. "Wanna play a game before we go?" He asks, motioning towards the pool table.

Dean shrugs, "Sure, though I'm not sure they'll having any sticks big enough for you. I don't know why you bother, I'll always win."

He's slipped out of his seat and making his way over to the pool table before Sam can get a witty retort in so he just laughs and follows after him.

Dean knew the moment Sam nudged him in the ribs something was wrong. It hurt. Like hurt bad. His breath rips from him for a moment, his arm voluntarily wrapping around them in protection. His breath never really comes back fully. He picks out a stick, and proceeds to beat Sam's ass at pool.

His sight is lessening with his shortness of breath, everything going violently bright to dim and smokey. He leans on the table a little, puts a little more weight into his shot than he meant to...then Sam is beside him shouting in exultation.

Little brother can't wait to have ONE victory. Sam shoves him, all be it gently, out of the way to make his shot, but it's enough. There's a table there, high enough to hit Dean's ribs as he moves with Sam's push, Laughing at Sam's joy.

Then he's not laughing.

Searing pain laces up his side and in his chest. He's heaving shallow breathes, loud in his own ears even as he struggles to stay on his feet.

"Sam," he chokes out, just as he tries to catch himself on the pool table and then plummets towards the floor in a blurry fog. Thinking this was why he must have felt so good, because enough bad would happen to him tonight to make up for the time off.

Sam should have known something was off. Dean wasn't playing such a hot game. His smiles were getting more and more stretched. Sam just though he was getting tired. Maybe he could finally get a win in, even though Dean being tired and sore would kind of disqualify it.

When Dean misses his shot Sam knows the game is his. "Yes!" he shouts exultantly, coming around the table, smiling at Dean's exasperated laugh.

"Move over, jerk, let the winner take his last shot." He's expecting a reply about his being a bitch, and the odds being in his favor. Instead he hears a soft 'ungh' from his brother like all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

He looks up in the blink of an eye to find Dean white, a hand reached out towards him, trying to keep his feet under him.

"Sam," his brother chokes out, amidst futile attempts at breathing, the shallow dry sound of his lungs wrapping Sam's heart in fear.

Sam throws himself forwards as Dean goes down. He catches Dean by his broad shoulders and gently lowers him down, letting his upper body and head rest on his thighs.

"Dean?" He calls, a little hesitantly, entirely blindsided. His trembling fingers try to feel a pulse, and finds a thready one. But it's Dean's blue lips and nearly nonexistent breaths that scare him.

"Some one call 911!" He demands not even looking up.

Hasty fingers push Dean's jacket and over shirt aside, then pushes his t-shirt up. He frowns at the light mottled bruising, gentle fingers drift down his sides and finds the same bump Dean had.

Stupid bastard. Sam grits his teeth. Why? He wants to ask Dean, wants to shake him. What was it in his brother that thought his pain wasn't important, that it shouldn't be treated, that he shouldn't be cared for?

Donny's voice comes to him vaguely, saying the ambulance is on it's way.

Please hurry, Sam thinks frantically.

It's not right, it's not natural. Dean shouldn't be this still, shouldn't be this white. It reminds him of other times, other times when ambulances couldn't help, when nothing could help. He grabs Dean's hand and squeezes it.

"Stay with me Dean." He begs...please, please don't leave me here alone.

Maybe Sam shouldn't have left it alone after all.

tbc...

PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU LIKE! ;)

thank you


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2.

The EMTs come rushing through the bar doors, and Sam steels himself to be pushed away from Dean's side. No matter how many time he's had do to this, it never gets any easy to accept that he wasn't the person Dean needs the most right now. He had since slipped his thighs out from under Dean and laid him flat on the floor in hopes of making breathing a little easier.

He looks up at the EMT who kneels beside him with a stricken face. The man is smaller than him, not that that was saying much, young, but not young enough to be inexperienced. When he wordlessly places two fingers on Dean's throat without comment to Sam's closeness, the younger Winchester immediately likes him.

"There's an abnormality on his torso," Sam says quietly, "I think it's a cracked rib."

The EMT sends him a mildly surprised glance, "You are...?"

"Uh," Sam nearly stammers, afraid this man will send him away from Dean's side after all. "Sam Winchester, Dean's," he points to his prostrate sibling, "my brother."

"Alright Sam," he says easily, "Can we trade spots?"

Sam nods eagerly and makes way for the more seasoned man. The EMT runs confident hands down his brother's sides and then listens to his breathing and heart with his stethoscope. He nods, lips pressed together, forehead creased in a frown.

"You're right. It probably started out as cracked, but it's broken now, it's deflated his right lung. Get the gurney in here!" He yells through the door that has been propped open.

Sam bites his bottom lip, listening at Dean's wheezing breaths, he squeezes his hand trying to make sure his brother knows he's still there, makes sure he knows to still fight.

"Sam?" The EMT asks, then when Sam looks at him, "My name's Lance, I'm going to lift Dean's upper body, okay? If you can support his middle, then Garret down there," he points to a bald, young black man on Dean's other side, who smiles widely at Sam and waves. "Garret will support his legs and feet, okay?"

Sam nods vigorously, so glad he's being allowed to help, so glad he wouldn't have to fight for his right to be by Dean's side.

"Alright," Lance says, hands snaking under Dean, "Up on the gurney on three...one, two, three."

Sam braces himself and lifts. Dean practically floats onto the gurney with three full grown men lifting him. Sam had forgotten how easy it was to transfer someone with help. He was used to do doing it on his own.

Sam sighs in relief with his brother on the rolling bed and Lance asks him to help push Dean outside.

With the EMT at the head of the bed and Sam on the right side they push Dean out of the bar's doors and to the waiting ambulance. How many times has Sam been here and done this? How many times has he felt the fear, the fear that once in the ambulance, once at the hospital Dean would never leave? It was so hard to know that his best chance was the same place Sam felt like was the Winchester's own person little hell.

Sam jumps up into the ambulance after they hoist Dean in and holds his hand calmly as Lance fixes an oxygen mask over his face, and begins to take his blood pressure. Garret is the driver's seat tearing out of the bar's parking lot and speeding down highway, lights and siren going full blast. That scares Sam even more.

"Hey man," Lance says, noticing Sam's looking a little more white now, "You're awful good at all this."

Sam gives him a stressed smile, "Lots of practice."

"Your brother break a lot of ribs?"

Sam snorts a laugh, "He breaks a lot of everything."

Lance laughs too, nodding his head, "I know the type."

"You got any brothers?" Sam asks curiously, honestly just wanting to pass the time.

A dark shadow passes over Lance's face, his shoulder slumping a little, "Not anymore."

Sam finds himself biting his lip again, the EMTs words bringing back the agony and terror of loosing Dean, his hand tightens around Dean's, telepathically demanding his brother not die on him.

Lance cocks his head to one side, watching the shaggy-haired man watch his brother's still face. He doesn't know these men, or their story, but he would know that haunted look anywhere.

"But you already know what that feels like, don't you?" He asks softly, and Sam looks up at him, tears glistening in his eyes.

"I can't do this again," he whispers, eyes downcast to where his and Dean's hands lay together.

Lance places a confident, but gentle hand on Sam's shoulder, "It's alright Sam, we're well on our way to helping your brother, he'll be in good hands at our hospital."

Sam nods quickly, tucking some loose hair behind his ear, "I know it's just...you never get used to it you know?" He gives Lance a tremulous smile. "No matter how many times I see him like this, no matter how many times I have to let other people save him, it never gets any easy."

Lance has seen a lot of pain, he's seen a lot of blood, he's seen fear and hate. But he's never seen just clear, unadulterated love like that which shines in this man's eyes. If he hadn't had been a brother himself he would have supposed them lovers. But as it is Lance does know. Knows how when things go sour there's really only one person you want. Your brother. Your sister. Your family.

He can also see Sam has been without that before, he knows that's what Sam's fear is. To be left alone again. He knows the pain, the hurt. But it's not about hurting, it's about not being by his brother's side, it's about being ripped away from the person you need. Yes, Lance could relate.

Dean eyes flutter and Lance waits to watch them react to each other. Sam had tensed and leaned over Dean twenty seconds before Lance had noticed him waking. He smirks. These two were so in tune with each other it was sweet. All though they both looked fit to take on an army, looked like they had with their worn clothes and expressions and calloused hands.

Dean's lips move under the oxygen mask, and Lance watches vibrant green eyes come into view and widen panicked, until they light on Sam, then the man's whole body relaxes. Lance watches as his fingers tighten around his brother's and the other hand, which had been resting on his chest, starts to skirt down his shirted torso.

Sam's entire face lights up, Lance knows he doesn't imagine the happy flush the washes over the giant of a man at being sought out first by his brother. His fingers tighten around Dean's hand too. He's watching his brother's face, waiting for the words he knows are coming. Before Lance even realizes the wounded man's intentions, Sam's hand has shot out lightening fast and jerked his brother's hand away from the fractured bone.

"Hey there big brother," he soothes, "Let's not touch that, okay?" He lays Dean's hand on the gurney by his side and pats it, trusting his sibling will do as instructed. He frowns as Dean continues to fight the oxygen mask and try to talk.

"Dean, hey. Don't talk, okay? Just let the mask breathe for you and rest. We can talk about how much of an idiot you are later."

Lance smiles at the snorting laugh that gains from the wounded man, even though it results in a hacking, dry laugh. He grimaces, arching forward a little, the hand by his side coming up to his chest. He lets out a rather disturbing sound from his throat and Lance watches his lips move under the mask.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam asks.

Dean nods weakly, not much movement.

"The cracked rib you failed to tell me about?" Dean nods, having the grace to look a little guilty. "It broke, punctured your lung, hence the trouble breathing."

Lance watches the two curiously, how they take all this information in stride, the younger one evidently used to this, the older one even more used to being in an ambulance going to a hospital with an oxygen mask. He wonders what these boys lives have been like, wonders where they're going, what they plan to do. They tickle his curiosity like patients rarely do.

Sam gives Dean's hand a last pat as they arrive at the ER entrance at the hospital. "We're gonna get you some help okay, Dean? Don't freak out I'm gonna be here, you just might not be able to see me."

Sam smirks as Dean whispers to him, "I know you're not a baby, but we know hospitals creep the hell out of both of us so just keep your chill, alright?

Dean nods and rests back against the gurney as the back doors swing open and Garret appears with a trauma team, they're wheeled into the hospital and right into a trauma room. Sam thinks the hospital must be quiet tonight. He steps back out of the way as an IV is inserted into Dean's arm, and a nurse is immediately shooting something into.

Dean is relaxing into the bed a few seconds later as his shirt is cut away from his chest and the doctor's latex-glove-covered-hands skate down his sides feeling the break and the extent of the damage. She glances up at Sam for a moment.

"What's he doing in here?" She asks bluntly.

To Sam's surprise Lance is still there, "Sam is Dean's brother, he's fine, I can vouch for his presence of mind."

The doctor only nods and then she's barking orders out. "Get me an x-ray, and an OR booked, let's go, let's get this man stabilized."

"What are they going to do?" Sam asks, leaning towards Lance, who pulls him out of the way by the arm. They watch the goings ons from the window to the trauma room. Sam sees Dean, long asleep from the drugs they'd already pumped to him, being shifted onto another bed. He hates when his brother has to have all the tubes going into him.

It's still wraps his heart in fear, still reminds him of the times the doctors told Sam Dean wasn't going to be leaving with him, wouldn't be getting out of the hospital. That his beautiful, passionate, heroic Dean would meet his end in a cold, white-washed hospital. That wasn't the end for Dean, he deserved something better. And if he wasn't going to bite it from a dead heart, or a coma, he definitely was going to die from a silly punctured lung.

Lance walks Sam through what Dean was about to go through, "Usually with a punctured lung you wait to see if the tissue will prepare itself. But with the severity of your brother's symptoms it seems he probably can't wait for his body to heal itself. They're going to insert some tubs down his throat and repair the lung that way. His throat will be sore for a few days, but other than that...keep those ribs wrapped up, try and keep him off his feet and he should be good."

Sam takes a seat after Dean is wheeled past him to go down for his x-ray. He lets his fingers run down his big brother's arm as he passes and bites his lip nervously. He looks back over to Lance.

"So how do you know so much about all this, anyways?" He asks.

Lance laughs, "I'm a nurse too, just an EMT on the side."

Sam raises his eyebrows, "Wow, that's a lot."

"Your telling me," Lance huffs, but laughs. "It's my life, I love it."

He hops up as a nurse approaches and takes the paperwork from her. He sits back down next to Sam. He raises an eyebrow at Sam and flourishes the pen professionally.

Sam just laughs tiredly.

"Dean Winchester got insurance?" Lance asks.

"Uh yeah," Sam grunts and pulls out his wallet, a copy of Dean's information with him at all times.

Lance raises his eyebrow, but doesn't comment. He takes the card from Sam and starts to fill out the forms. Sam watches him numbly for a moment. "What are you doing?"

Lance shrugs, "This is the worst part. I'm doing it so you can sit there and imagine all the terrible ways this could go wrong and your brother could die."

Sam laughs, "Sorry, I know spaced out there for a minute."

"It's okay, I see it in a lot of people. In the heat of the moment they're amazing, couldn't find cooler people in the military, and then as soon as their loved one is taken care of, they fall to pieces."

"Wow," Sam laughs nervously, "Please don't let me fall to pieces."

"Course not," Lance says easily, "Alright, I'll ask you questions and you answer, I'll jot the information down on your brother's chart."

The next hour passes quickly for Sam with Lance keeping him company and distracted. They laugh over Dean's a bit bizarre chart (what with all his multiple previous hospital visits) and Sam's thankful Lance doesn't seem worried or curious as to how Dean gets into so much trouble. A nurse comes in and takes them back to a smaller waiting room.

Sam relaxes, knowing this means Dean's being taken care of and hopefully in a room soon so he can see him. Lance is still by his side and Sam doesn't really understand, but is more than thankful when Lance supplies coffee seemingly out of thin air.

"Perks of being a nurse too." He says smirking, "They always have a good, hot brew in the nurse's stations."

Sam all but melts into his cup of coffee and could have kissed Lance.

Instead he observes him for a moment, wondering what the story of this ordinary, but drastically different human being was. There's those people you meet, Angels that touch your life for a split blink in time, but they're there when you need them. Lance was one of those, and Sam was infinitely thankful.

"What?" Lance asks, from where he's leaning on his knees breathing in the steam from his coffee cup held in his joined hands.

Sam realizes he'd lost himself for a moment and Lance had caught him staring.

"Just," Sam motions around with his hands, "As you know, me and Dean have seen the insides of more than just a few hospitals and in most of those cases we came in contact with EMTs, you're a little different, I mean after you get to the ER the EMTs job is done, right?"

Lance nods and looks away like he's a little embarrassed, "Uh yeah, well sometimes I like to know what happens to the people I bring in."

Sam raises an eyebrow, "Sometimes?"

Lance shrugs, chewing on the inside of his mouth for a moment, "Patients I identify with, I guess."

Sam nods thoughtfully thinking about his brother, thinking about how he's like a magnet to good people, people who place their faith and trust in him. It was a part of Dean's curse, to never be able to have the chance to do right by those good people...they died first.

"So you identify with Dean?" He asks, but Lance shakes his head.

"It's you, Sam."

Sam thinks vaguely this should feel really creepy.

Lance holds up his hands, "Let me explain myself." Sam nods and Lance takes a deep breath.

"My brother, Warren, used to be an EMT with me, we worked nights together for a long time. I was a nurse here at the hospital every other day, and Warren worked with the fire department in his free time.

"I never really thought about it, but the job wore on my brother. He was the big, brave, macho type you know? Big thick skin covering his massive soft side." Sam nods laughing, thinking about Dean, Lance chuckles fondly as well.

"I think Warren just couldn't handle all the suffering, he felt more and more responsible. Felt guilty he couldn't save everyone, couldn't help everyone.

"My brother seemed to get crazy high on danger, loved to press his luck, didn't mind when he got hurt as long as the victim was saved." Sam nods, can totally relate it that, it was like Dean in one sentence.

"After a little while, I noticed he wasn't looking like himself, seemed like maybe he was getting sick or something. It was the next day I was riding the ambulance by myself and we got a call. Except it was an address I knew...Warren's."

Lance shudders in his seat, glances over at Sam with wet eyes.

"There he was out cold on the floor, turns out he'd been at a fire two days before that when a board from the house had fallen on him. The medic had checked him out, advised him to have some x-rays but Warren had insisted he was fine, and that he'd go in himself if he felt weird and he went home."

Lance wiped a tear off his cheek that had snaked down from his eye, "The stupid bastard bled out, a huge internal bleed in his stomach...see Warren didn't wanna die, it just made him feel a little better if he suffered like the people he helped, the people he saved. He couldn't see that his job was already enough, couldn't see how much of a difference he made by just saving them."

Sam was silent, sitting in shock beside his newfound friend as he cried. Lance sniffed and manfully wiped his face clean.

"Sam," he started determinedly. "I don't know you, or your brother, don't know what you do for a living, but your brother was hurt, he was in agony, cracked ribs are no joke. He didn't say anything until he couldn't breathe."

Sam stares at him, tears coming to his own eyes with the implications of his words.

"Your brother was hurt and he knew he was, and he wanted to suffer...don't make the same mistake I did. Make Dean understand, let him know that what he does is enough, make him understand he doesn't have to feel guilty, doesn't have to suffer."

As Sam sits in shock, Lance rises and disappears into the crowd, going back to his ambulance, hoping he's done some good today.

Sam wrings his hands, mind racing jumping to frightening suspicions.

His brother didn't want to die, Sam knew that. He guesses it's not surprising that Dean felt guilty, that was expected, that was common knowledge. And he knew Dean wasn't often concerned about taking care of himself, he didn't really care if he hurt.

Sam knows Dean would have long been dead if he didn't look after him.

But that being said Sam had never suspected Dean punished himself by letting his wounds sit and torture him. Was this a way Dean got release? Was this the reason for Dean's sudden change in mood? He felt his load lighten when he was hurting, because he felt like he was paying for something?

Sam buries his face in his hands. How had he not seen this before? How could he let his brother do this to himself year after year. How many of their before-mentioned hospital trips been the product of Dean's needing himself to suffer? To pay for everyone else's pain, to give penance for not being able to save everyone?

Sam's heart aches it's so full, so miserably in awe of his big brother. He doesn't want to believe it, but it makes sense...it is so Dean. It explains why when things go bad for them Dean gets so reckless, because he needs the aches and the pains to live with himself.

But how could Dean, Dean Winchester believe he was so worthless? How could he suppose he was worth so little when so many people lived because of him? Sam knows Dean didn't see himself as Sam saw him, but he'd hoped, apparently foolishly, that Dean had recovered some self respect.

Sam knows how hopeless Dean has been feeling, because the same feelings are mirrored in his own heart. But what he doesn't know is how Dean feels so guilty, bears all the responsibility. Dean isn't Sam, isn't clever enough to tell himself that it's not his fault. That's what Sam tells himself, because this is his brother he's talking about. His almighty big brother, Dean can't deal with their lives like this...he can't think he deserves to suffer.

Even as he sits there in denial he knows where all this began. After Dean came back from hell and he tortured all those souls. He knew his brother would always feel like he needed to do penance for that. And Dean probably felt he could make it right by feeling all that same pain. And as the years progressed that was how Dean Winchester dealt with things. He let himself suffer in order to pay for whatever he felt guilty for.

It was why he drank. He was miserable and it was right to feel miserable. Sam knew that was what Dean told himself.

A nurse approaches him and he lifts haunted eyes up to her.

"Mr. Allen?"

He nods, finally Dean picked a halfway decent name to put on his insurance.

"Your brother is being settled in a room now, I can take you to him, if you like?"

He nods and follows her a little numbly.

How did he convince his brother that he didn't need to suffer. How did he prove to him that he had nothing to atone for, that he shouldn't just leave his wounds alone so he can suffer. That he didn't need to pay for other people's wrongs, that he didn't have to hurt just because other people were?

How do you convince Dean Winchester of his self-worth?

tbc...

PLEASE REVIEW! ;)

thank you

I meant for this to be only two parts, but it ran away with its self. I'll post the last part tomorrow hopefully. See ya then! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3.

Sam finds himself in a place he hasn't been in many, many years. He's standing in front of his brother's hospital room door and he can't go in. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to act. Doesn't know if he wants to cuss Dean out or cry until he's exhausted on his shoulder.

He doesn't know how to look at his hero and know how low he must bend just to live with himself.

His hands are fisted by his sides, his eyes burning with tears determined not to fall. This was Dean's fault, damnit! This was his problem and it was hurting Sam and hell, Sam really, really wants to blame Dean, but he can't.

And he can't go in, and he doesn't know what to say and he feels like the worst brother ever. So he opens the door and stand in its way.

The room is dark. Dean lays on the bed in a hospital gown, tucked under the sheets primly. Sam knows he hasn't been awake yet because he would have mess up the sheets if he had been. The only light on is shining down on his brother lighting his pale face illuminating the light, yellow bruises on the left side of his face. He looks sick and weak, but he looks like he's at peace. Like he's actually sleeping. For once.

It was the hardest thing to do these days, getting Dean Winchester to lay down and let himself rest. So Sam's thankful at least for that. Biting his lip, he steps forward into the room and stops by Dean's bed. Shaking his head, trying to avoid the desperate tears waiting to spill over, he takes his brother's big, calloused hand.

But lying there Dean might as well have been a child. Small and scared. Sam only sees his brother, the man he's killed to save, the man who has died to save him, sees him lying there still and white as death...and he did it to himself. Sam let him do it to himself.

He can't quite wrap his mind around how it happened, how he got used to leaving his brother to his own devices. But he knows somewhere along the road Sam started to leave him alone. And that wasn't what Dean needed, that wasn't what he deserved. He thrived on people, he thrived on people needing him, he thrived on saving people from the very pain he himself had experienced.

When he couldn't, when his world was spinning out of control and people got hurt Dean let himself feel the pain, let himself feel it because if he couldn't stop it then he deserved for it to be his. Sam chokes back a sob and Dean's eyes flutter, green flashing.

Sam lifts a hand and lays against Dean's bruised cheek, his thumb grazing over the slightly swollen cheek bone. Dean's confused gaze lands on him and his body goes relaxed, he sleepily turns his face into Sam's hand. He looks up, mildly surprised at Sam's gasping in take of breath.

"You don't have to suffer," Sam says gently, trying to keep the desperation and heart break and anger out of his voice.

Dean just looks at him.

"You deserve saving just like everyone else, Dean." His brother seems to be getting the gist of the conversation, he tenses and pulls away.

"Don't, don't do that," Sam pleads, "Don't pull away from me to be alone and miserable just because I deserve better, or...or because Jesse grew up alone...it isn't your fault Dean, it isn't your wrong to pay for."

Dean swallows and looks away, tears sparkling in his own eyes.

"Will you ever get it?" Sam asks, a scoffing laugh escaping his lips amidst his tears.

Dean's gaze sharpens, a dare to mock him any more.

Sam leans down and wraps his other hand around his big brother's forearm. "Will you ever get that what you do is over and beyond enough...will you ever see that you are a man amongst men? Will you ever see yourself as more than just someone who failed to do something, will you never see your victories?"

Sam holds his breath in order to keep back a sob, as Dean looks away from him, tears snaking from his eyes and leaking onto Sam's hand.

Sam wipes one away with his thumb. "Will you ever realize your tears should be dried too?"

He squeezes Dean's arm tightly, "Will you ever accept that you deserve something better? Will you ever have pain and instead of leaving it alone and hiding it and relishing in it, will you lay it out ugly and raw and let someone fix it? Dean..."

He pulls his brother's face to look at him, "Let me fix it, let me try..."

His brother shuts his eyes, more tears loosening as he shakes his head.

"Yes..." Sam whispers, "Yes." He gives a firm shake to Dean's arm. "I'm here for you Dean, that's all I'm here for, you're supposed to need me, you're supposed to fall apart and let me put you back together.

"You're supposed to feel guilty about the darkness, and Lucifer and the mark of Cain, but you're supposed to blame it on someone other than yourself, your supposed to be angry and point fingers at stupid little brothers."

Sam's eyes dim with tears as he watches the pain and emotions wash over his brother's face, the tears follow wetly.

"You're supposed to miss Cas," he whispers, face so close to Dean's, these words just between them. "You're supposed to feel like a terrible friend, and you should try and save him. But. You. Do. Not. Hurt. For. Him."

Dean lets out a shuddering breath, and tries to look away, but Sam jerks his face back towards him.

"Do you hear me?" He asks determined, eyes red and wet but serious. "You don't hurt for him, you don't hurt for the world...you don't hurt for me..."

And oh god, how many times had Dean done that for Sam? Let himself ache and experience agony because Sam was discontent, or because Sam was pissed about Benny, or about an angel possessing him, or being secretive about the Book of the Damned? He knew what Dean did for him in plain sight. What did his brother do in the dark, how did he suffer for Sam behind closed doors and in the depths of his heart?

He feels the weight fall upon him just thinking about it, feels the breath caught in his throat, feels the tears falling so fast down his cheeks, they knock each other down onto his shirt.

"Please," he begs, forehead pressed to his brother's. "Please not for me, never for me Dee."

Sam's hand leaves Dean's face and snakes around his stomach, "Don't suffer for me brother, please not for me."

When he feels a gentle hand on his head and familiar fingers in his hair he feels himself relax. He lets his head drop from Dean's forehead to his chest, breathes in the familiar scent, finds rest in this tried and true place of comfort. Even though Dean hasn't said anything, even though they haven't resolved anything. He knows his brother's heart is breaking with his, knows the life is bearing hard on him, knows it just became too heavy.

It was too good to be true, they had held together so well for so long. Sam should have seen it coming. Now the world, their predicament, their failures...it all comes crashing down on them. From here they're defenseless, from here they can only roll with the punches.

They're both exhausted and done pretending to optimistic, they're losing. And as Sam lies there on Dean's chest he thinks nothing could be more important than being there for Dean. That he will never just 'leave that alone' again. But who knows? When the world needs saving, when only one man can do the job can Sam leave it alone? When things are too big, and too important to be held up for the sake of one man can he leave it alone?

Whether it's for himself to save the world, or for Dean to save the world, can Sam leave Dean alone?

the end.

This is the last chapter so...PLEASE REVIEW! ;)

thank you

Wednesday's coming! YAYYYYY...can't wait to see Chuck! :)

P.S. I know Dean didn't say anything back to Sam in this chapter but what would Dean really do? What was he supposed to say? Would he promise not to do it anymore? No, I don't think so. Oh well.


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